Vaporware by Richard Dansky Page B

Maybe
I’d been too hasty with my assessment of my gastro-intestinal state.
    “That’s
sweet, Ryan,” she said in a low voice. “Thank you.”
    “Welcome,”
I muttered thickly. “I’m still pissed off about this whole thing, you know.”
    I
felt, rather than saw, her nod. “I know. That’s why I wanted to make sure you
came out there today. I figured you could get some of it out of your system. I
didn’t know then that you’d been co-opted.”
    “Leon
tell you?”
    “Leon
has a hard time keeping his mouth shut,” she agreed. “And he likes you. So if
you want to do right by him, figure out how you really feel about this and deal
with it. Even if it does mean moving on. Because otherwise, you’re just going
to drive yourself nuts, and I won’t always be there to take you home.”
    “We’ll
see,” I said, as the car glided up to the curb. The front door was open, and,
at the sound of the engine, Sarah came outside to the curb.
    Michelle
cut the engine. “This is your stop, sailor,” she said, and unbuckled my seat
belt before getting out of the car. “Sarah? He’s fine. His car’s at
Montague’s.” My keys dangled from her hand.
    Sarah
was smiling, mostly. “Thanks for taking care of him, Michelle. I owe you one.”
She took the keys, even as I fumbled with the door handle and let myself out.
    “Sounds
good,” she said, instead looking back at me as I wobbled to my feet. “Really,
though, it’s no big deal. Leon would have done it, but like I said, he was
headed the other way.”
    “Leon’s
a good guy,” Sarah agreed, walking past Michelle to where I was taking cautious
steps house-wards. “Honey, let’s get you inside. You’ve had a rough day.”
    “I’m
sorry,” I said to her. “Was just going to go for a little while and—”
    “Shhh,”
she said, even as we walked past where Michelle stood. “I understand.” Small
steps, all uphill, carried us toward the door.
    “Let’s
get you some water and some aspirin, and when you feel like it, we can talk
about what happened and what happens next.”
    “Thank
you, honey,” I said, and felt myself close to tears for some inexplicable
reason. “You’re good to me.”
    “Most
of the time, you’re worth it,” she said, but she was smiling. Then we were on
the porch and she was opening the door. When I craned my neck back down the
hill to thank Michelle, she was gone.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 7
     
     
     
     
     
    Much
later, we lay in bed, neither of us speaking. I’d been dosed with multiple
applications of hot water, cold water, coffee, and stern glances until I’d
reached a reasonable approximation of sober, and then poured in between the
covers with stern admonitions not to do anything except sleep.
    Sleep,
of course, proved impossible.
    The
venetian blinds sliced the streetlight outside into thin, neat strips that ran
across the ceiling. Occasionally, a car would go by, its stereo almost loud
enough to be heard. After a while, Sarah came to bed, undressing without a word
and climbing between the sheets. I’d set Linus, her favorite teddy bear, on her
pillow before my last attempt to shut my eyes and force myself to sleep. She
held him up for a moment, then gently set him on the floor and lay back, inches
from me.
    Outside,
a neighbor’s cat got into it briefly with something or another, One yowl, then
another, then that was all she wrote. I found myself hoping the cat was all
right, then wondering where the animal’s owner was before finally giving up and
not caring. Next to me, Sarah’s breathing was deep, slow and measured, the
sound of someone trying to go to sleep.
    Trying.
Not succeeding.
    “It
would have been a good game.” I said finally, into the stillness. “It really
would have.”
    “I
know, honey.” She didn’t move. “I know that one meant a lot to you.”
    I
let out a long breath. “You don’t understand. It really was going to be good.
We had something different. Something really